This is a horrible old misogynistic coot having a rant about his hatred for well-heeled bitches and fancy men who drive luxury vehicles and flaunt their health club-sculpted tails. Once, on a busy city street, a nasty fat man (with a little dog) who clearly hated “provocative” young men with high-sitting asses like me sidled up to my illicit shape and viciously whispered “Don’t get too gay.” I threw him down to the ground, but did not harm the blameless pup, who was clearly a class act and embarrassed enough. Also, I wasn’t the least bit sorry, which I think in retrospect marked my descent into Fight Club-esque bad boyism.
Anyway, we know now that American prosperity is actually based on cronyism, greed, thievery, and emerging from the right vagina, and that the Free Market is a fantasy perpetrated by bone-throwing psychopaths with business degrees. I too despise our bastard plutocracy and the soul-deadening race to toil for a life of comfort and leisure, so whenever I pull a knife on a broker or banker who cuts ahead of me in line because he thinks I’m insignificant, I have to wonder if this man isn’t inside me. There is truth in every seething, broad-daylight rant.
Continue, toothless, raving demagogue.
© 2010, Shawn Baker. All rights reserved. Nightcharm.com
Oh, we all have that angry proletariat inside, especially if you’re smart and poor, which is not an oxymoron. Joan Didion writes, “There were certain parts of the city which I had to avoid. I could not bear upper Madison Avenue on weekday mornings (this was a particularly inconvenient aversion, since I then lived just fifty or sixty feet east of Madison), because I would see women walking Yorkshire terriers and shopping at Gristede’s, and some Veblenesque gorge would rise in my throat.”
Veblenesque is a original coinage by Didion, referring to Thornstein Veblen, an economist who coined his own term: conspicuous consumption. Every time I see a jackass in a Hummer or the blonde clones on Bravo’s reality shows, I feel that Veblenesque gorge rising in my throat, too.
Also, sorry to be a jackass myself, but you have a dangling modifier in the sentence, “…a nasty fat man with a little dog who clearly hated ‘provocative’ young men with high-sitting asses like me…” It reads as if the dog hates provocative young men.
I’m defo loving the popped hip at 1:48. Also, since when has strutting involved hopping backwards?
“you have a dangling modifier in the sentence…”
I couldn’t think how to word it better. “…a nasty fat man (with a little dog) who clearly hated ‘provocative’ young men with high-sitting asses like me sidled up to my illicit shape…”?
Anyway, the dog was likely closeted and torn between empathy for me and not outing himself. I respected that as his personal choice.
That works well.
I also suggest putting the dog in a verbal phrase before the subject: Once, on a busy city street, walking his little dog, a nasty fat man who clearly hated “provocative†young men with high-sitting asses like me sidled up to my illicit shape…”
Joan Didion with paragraph sentences would be proud.